On Tsunami in Japan
Tongue is mum,
Words are scattered
The whole existence seems to be melting
Into nothingness,
Who are we?
Nothing but playthings,
Objects of derision for Nature.
Our achievments,
Our profitability,
Our whole life is under Her heavy feet,
She exercises Her might on us
Whenever, wherever she wishes,
She does everything upsidedown
In an instant.
Who are we?
What significance we bear?
We are like dew drops scattered on the leaves
Until the sun shows his visage.
Who cares for us?
Certainly none.
We are the messiah of our own pain,
Our hopes are false,
Our dreams are false,
Our whole being is a heap of falsehood.
Our age long labour is spoiled in an instant,
The marks of our glory are raised to ground,
Our whole success is mingled in the dust
When Nature frowns at us.
Then why should we invite Her wrath?
Why should we interrupt Her course?
We should mind our business
And let Her mind Her own.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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A Greed For All Golden Eggs!
Furious attacks by Nature as earthquakes and storms,
Heart breaking scenes, are horrible imprints in mind!
Why is Nature so harsh to mankind remaining calm long?
Many poets have appreciated its beauty, grandeur, mercy
Almost to the level of Supreme Creator of all everywhere!
But Nature shows its other face though Moon hides ever!
Materialist man has taken for granted Nature's love for all
Just us we all breathing air forget ourselves of its existence!
Perhaps that's the case Nature shows its wrath of its presence!
Nay, man's blunder in exploiting natural resources beyond limit
Without any sense of recycling them at all and selling farms
For urbanisation of villages Nature shows its wrath so harsh!
Instead of thanking Nature's generous gesture man destroys
All like the greedy man who killed goose to take all golden eggs!
poem by Ramesh T A
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You Yield To the Wrong Way
Your mind has been scattered away,
With...
Those dangled wishes,
Just to keep you addicted.
Your mind has been scattered away,
With...
Those dangled wishes,
Just to keep you addicted.
And you reach up for the stars,
But not a lift you get.
And you've become so vicious.
Your mind has been scattered away,
With...
Those dangled wishes,
Just to keep you addicted.
And something inside you,
Said STOP!
But you yield to the wrong way.
And you went ahead to drop...
Your head in dismay.
Your mind has been scattered away,
With...
Those dangled wishes,
Just to keep you addicted.
Your mind has been scattered away,
With...
Those dangled wishes,
Just to keep you addicted.
And something inside you,
Said STOP!
But you yield to the wrong way.
And that's why your head has dropped,
Because you yield to the wrong way!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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what do we do to Mother Earth?
do not burn
let the leaves fall to the ground
let them stay there
layer by layer
heap upon heap
let mother earth
hug all the leaves
let the affection be
strong and heavy
let the leaves die
and rot and become
water and become dust
to dust
let all of us see this dust
we shall do what mother earth
and nature loves best
to dust we shall return
and be its permanent part
close to the bosom
of mother earth
forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Scattered and Free
the normal mind goes for
a unified view
thus whatever is scattered
like stars the mind grapples to gather for
a heap of leaves
thus whatever is dissonant
the mind summons upon an eclectic rampage
and creates a harmony somehow
to put music
in one note
but no matter what this normal mind does
what this universe opts
is to explode and create a bang
and scatter some more
all its
hidden particles
what order there is
the flux sucks them all into a big hole
and at the end of its tunnel
vomits whatever is taken
and spreads
everything like dust from the
rear of
a speeding car
one looks at it
in isolation
and one sees a chaos that is more beautiful
than a system
than a cabinet of clothes
with a lock
of a closet
wanton beauty as one wants to put it
the rain that drops without a count
the sunlight that burst without
cadence
the river that flows in rage
without numbers
the clouds that drift
without
a specific direction
the waves that rise and fall
and reach a shore
without staying
upon a permanent
dwelling
all these from a distance
make me accept
the crazy cadence of
disorder
that my normal mind wants to grapple
into a cat fight
a struggle that i still want
to understand
a wrestle that wishes
to win and
stop
at the end let all things be
scattered and free....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dew Drops Mist
Whatever it is that you've been told...
As the dew drops mist,
Each morning that unfolds...
Mother Nature to this is committed.
To all things that exist.
And even you and I...
We are caught up the mix.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows...
Everything that lives,
She assists its growth.
And you and I can do what we like.
In between the fussing, cussing and fights.
You and I can decide to hide or be seen...
But mother Nature is there!
And always on the ecene.
It doesn't matter if we chit chat or scatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter if we scatter without chatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
And,
We can be a little rich or poor.
Or never answer a knock on our doors.
It doesn't matter if we chit chat or scatter.
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Every morning when you're yawning and it's dawn,
On this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter in your life what's going on,
'Cause...
In this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever it is that you've been told...
As the dew drops mist,
Each morning that unfolds...
Mother Nature to this is committed.
To all things that exist.
And even you and I...
We are caught up the mix.
So,
Every morning when you're yawning and it's dawn,
On this existence the dew drops mist.
It doesn't matter in your life what's going on,
'Cause...
In this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows it and knows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
Whatever the season that comes to leave,
We may have our differences and do not agree.
But,
Nonstop Mother Nature shows it and knows...
Upon this existence the dew drops mist.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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O all my labours scattered uselessly
O all my labours scattered uselessly
O, all my useless scattered sighs,
O loyalty, that never, O living fire,
Chilled or burned others so, if I see truly,
O paper marked, to be marked, in vain,
In praise of those loved and ardent eyes,
O those hopes ministering to desires,
That their worthiest prize should claim,
All, all, in a moment, gathered by the breeze,
Since I have heard my impious lord
With my own ears, himself speak free,
Saying when near that he thinks of me,
And yet in leaving, in an instant leaves,
Of all my love, his every memory.
poem by Gaspara Stampa
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A Few Drops Of Dew
Bound by earth and sky
The particles of darkness
Of my existence
Got crystallized into
Fertile dew-drops.
The thin clouds
Of scattered dew-drops
In the womb of an
Unfathomable vacuum
Assembled in ones and twos
Over my semi-bald head,
Promising a heavy downpour
On the pale leaves of grass at my feet,
During an autumnal twilight.
I was really amused to perceive
How those mere dew-drops
Could regenerate
So much greenery
Here, there, everywhere
And even on my bald- head.
At a distant horizon
On the dark boughs
Of a parched gulmohar tree
Red petals appeared
And singing birds perched
And surprisingly I could hold
The fragrance of thin hairs
Grown around her nape
With a solid passion,
Singing nursery-rhymes
To utmost perfection.
In the empty corridors of my ribs
Broken desires and disabled opportunities
Raised their wrinkled scalps
For a few drops of dew.
I really marvelled
At the sight of those dew-drops
Of such multiple colours
Creating a cascading effect
In their beauty and significance
Which I adored
And many a time imbibed.
But, alas! I didn’t know
Such ethereal dew-drops
Could feel so insecure
Merely at the sight
Of a pregnant eastern sky.
The mother and the artist
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of wonderfully emollient freshness; every
unfurling instant of impregnably magnificent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of spellbindingly undefeated innocence; every
unfurling instant of symbiotically pristine existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of timelessly unconquerable truth; every unfurling
instant of bounteously magnanimous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unfathomably unfettered creativity; every
unfurling instant of timelessly burgeoning existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of royally triumphant resplendence; every
unfurling instant of unconquerably majestic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of eternally exhilarating vivaciousness; every
unfurling instant of redolently insuperable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbelievably ameliorating optimism; every
unfurling instant of marvelously benign existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of brilliantly liberated camaraderie; every
unfurling instant of iridescently inscrutable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unshakably virgin righteousness; every
unfurling instant of beautifully untainted existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of uninhibitedly heavenly frolic; every unfurling
instant of tantalizingly sensuous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of compassionately humanitarian friendship; every
unfurling instant of magically mitigating existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of miraculously everlasting freshness; every
unfurling instant of invincibly coalescing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of pricelessly ubiquitous oneness; every unfurling
instant of robustly blessed existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbreakably Omnipotent desire; every unfurling
instant of victoriously effulgent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unceasingly reinvigorating fantasy; every
unfurling minute of poignantly charismatic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of insurmountably intrepid enchantment; every
unfurling minute of rhapsodically unhindered existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Omnisciently tranquil serenity; every unfurling
instant of endlessly bestowing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of perpetually fragrant breath; every unfurling
instant of Omnipresently benevolent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Immortally ardent love; every unfurling instant
of limitlessly fructifying existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fantastically alleviating poetry; every
unfurling instant of boundlessly splendid existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fabulously effervescent tanginess; every
unfurling instant of spiritually uplifting existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unlimitedly enlightening Sunshine; every
unfurling instant of infallibly luminescent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of immaculately godly melody; every unfurling
instant of amiably melanging existence,
Because. And Only Because. A Mother is; has and shall for times immemorial
remain the Greatest Sculptor of every organism on this astoundingly
multiplying Universe; A Mother is the Greatest Artist….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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You're No God
Dark rewrite of the Linda Ronstadt classic You're No Good
Written for the antichrist whoever they may be
Feeling bitter, now that you know to me you'll never get through
Feeling bitter 'cause I just won't
I just won't give in to you
I learned my real savior's lesson
I gladly bear the scars of his cross
Turning my back on you
Just like he ask me to
Cause through my faith in him
I've seen you for who you really are
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False prophet, you're no God
I'm gonna sing it again
Till this whole falling apart world knows
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False prophet, you're no God
No God
No God of mine
You wanna steal away a lamb from his flock that's good and pure
Well, I won't throw my soul away
No, not over a devil like you
Someday forced to repent
Repent for your sins
You'll be forced to beg his forgivness on bended knee
Oh, I would't blame him if he ask me to sing
Ask me to sing to you
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False prophet, you're no God
I'm gonna sing it again
Till all turn away from your dark light
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False prophet, you're no God
I'm telling you now, false messiah
As I'm sending you away
Far, far away from me
Forget about it false messiah
'Cause you're not winning my soul this day, today
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False prophet, you're no God
I'm gonna sing it again
Till all your devil's lies are exposed
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False messiah, you're no God
Oh, oh no
You're no God
You're no God
You're no God
False messiah, you're no God
2008 Ramona Thompson
poem by Ramona Thompson
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Scattered
This song is dedicated to the memory of
Annie florence davies and carol bryans.
Like a seed that is sewn
All the children are scattered
By a breeze that is blown
Now the crops are all scattered
We are torn, we are shattered
Now some of us are barmy and battered
And the fields where we gathered
Are overgrown in weeds and in tatters
Through it all we were scattered
To the fields we are scattered
From the day we are born
To grow wild and sleep rough
Till from the earth we are torn
And a soul that is free
Can live on eternally
And the spirit can live on
Though its scattered in the world beyond
And Ive been out of my mind
Ever since shes been gone
I look around that empty room
No sight nor sound
Shes left so soon
Shes out of view
But the I find
Those scattered clues she left behind
A photograph with a smiling face
A cigarette stubbed out on the fireplace
A coffee cup with her lipstick stains
I guess Ill never see her again
Now my life is all scattered
Ever since shes been gone
I feel older, I feel fatter
I feel the blues coming on
We get bruised
We get battered
But well pick up the pieces that scattered
And with emotional glue
Were gonna stick together, body and mind
Ever since she went away
Ive been alone to contemplate
Time and space and why worlds move
While sitting in my solitude
Ive watched the stars and wondered why
Theyre scattered up there in the sky
And is she up there out of view
On some higher platitude
I wish I knew
Wish I could prove
The reason why this life on earth
Is scattered like the universe
Im scattered here and scattered there
Bits of me scattered everywhere
To the fields we are scattered
Then from the dust we are born
We survive somewhat battered
To a new life, a new dawn
In the end what will it matter
Therell only be my ashes to scatter
And all the logical answers
To a worrying mind
Will be scattered in time
Beaten and battered
To the earth you are scattered
Youre going home so what does it matter
To an atomic mind
Scattered here while you travel time
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's a New Beginning!
It's a New Beginning!
Afresh is the New Year's New Morning
Time to be what you want
Don't let it go in an instant
Hold on to your dreams
No matter what it seems
Old Year has gone by
New Year has come by
Just glide on into a new horizon
Go on make your move, Believe you can
Just as the Sun shines all over the world
You can be what your dreams behold
You will have ups and downs
Why spend in frowns?
Do not lose hope,
Life is a slope;
Be the one; who Smiles
Smile shall travel many miles
It will travel all around and return
Just smile, when it's your turn
You never know when it Snows
When it does, it's all around and that shows
Nothing can be untouched by Sweet Nature
All is well, when you Smile for sure.
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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From Sengtzan (died 606 AD/CE) , the Third Patriarch of Zen
How may we walk all free and undisturbed
through life, as if there were no other way?
So that our human nature finds no break
between our nature, and all nature's play?
The answer lies in thought: for if our mind
holds any thought that some restriction makes
on truth itself, then Truth is thus constrained
in every part; can never show itself.
For hence comes false requirement, then to judge
between all these embordered things in mind -
Which wearies angered mind, like some old grudge;
No freedom then, nor peace, nor truth, to find.
So curb that game divisive mind will play
with anything at all; that is the Way.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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SCATTERED...by Talile Ali
IT HAPPENS TO ALMOST EVERYONE
IT HAPPENED, I KNOW, TO ME
SOME KIND OF MAGIC INCIDENT
MY MIND JUST SIMPLY SEIZED
INTO SOME KINDA MADNESS
INTO A GENTLE MIST
OUT OF WHICH DOES COME SOME MAGIC
TO CONTINUE TO EXIST
HABITS BECOME
CHOICES
ABUSE'S BECOME A THING
IN WHICH YOU MAY FIND POWER
IN WHICH YOUR SPIRIT SINGS
YOU KNOW THERE'S SOMETHING PUTRID
IN THIS THING THAT YOU CHOSE TO DO
BUT YOUR BRAIN IS SO SCATTERED
MISUNDERSTOOD BY ALL YOU CHOOSE
A LIFE OF SCATTERED IMAGES
A LIFE OF HOPELESS DREAMS
TRYING TO FIND SOME PLEASURE
IN A LIFE OBSCENE
A PIECE OF MEAT TO FRIEDA
A LITTLE CHEAT TO DUTCH
NOTHING TO MAKE SPORT OF
SCATTERED,
IN THE DUST OF LUST
poem by Talile Ali
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Hope
Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Aurobindo 155 Savitri Book 10
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book Ten: The Book of the Double Twilight
Canto Four: The Dream Twilight of the Earthly Real
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
'He imparts to the Immobile his own will,
Attributes to the Eternal wrath and love
And to the Ineffable lends a thousand names.
Hope not to call God down into his life.
How shalt thou bring the Everlasting here?
There is no house for him in hurrying Time.
Vainly thou seekst in Matter's world an aim;
No aim is there, only a will to be.'
'nothing ever have solved since earth began,
And sciences omnipotent in vain
By which men learn of what the suns are made,
Transform all forms to serve their outward needs,
Ride through the sky and sail beneath the sea,
But learn not what they are or why they came; '
'Why is it all, the labour and the din, Line 154 to
'Or nothing is there but only a Mind that dreams: 'Line 165
'The world is a myth that happened to come true,
A legend told to itself by conscious Mind,
Imaged and played on a feigned Matter's ground
On which it stands in an unsubstantial Vast.
Mind is the author, spectator, actor, stage:
Mind only is and what it thinks is seen.
If Mind is all, renounce the hope of bliss;
If Mind is all, renounce the hope of Truth.'
'Mind is a tissue woven of light and shade
Where right and wrong have sewn their mingled parts;
Or Mind is Nature's marriage of convenance
Between truth and falsehood, between joy and pain:
This struggling pair no court can separate.'
Awe-struck dumb my mind in silent wonderment....
............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Pittypat and Tippytoe
All day long they come and go--
Pittypat and Tippytoe;
Footprints up and down the hall,
Playthings scattered on the floor,
Finger-marks along the wall,
Tell-tale smudges on the door--
By these presents you shall know
Pittypat and Tippytoe.
How they riot at their play!
And a dozen times a day
In they troop, demanding bread--
Only buttered bread will do,
And the butter must be spread
Inches thick with sugar too!
And I never can say "No,
Pittypat and Tippytoe!"
Sometimes there are griefs to soothe,
Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth;
For (I much regret to say)
Tippytoe and Pittypat
Sometimes interrupt their play
With an internecine spat;
Fie, for shame! to quarrel so--
Pittypat and Tippytoe!
Oh the thousand worrying things
Every day recurrent brings!
Hands to scrub and hair to brush,
Search for playthings gone amiss,
Many a wee complaint to hush,
Many a little bump to kiss;
Life seems one vain, fleeting show
To Pittypat and Tippytoe!
And when day is at an end,
There are little duds to mend;
Little frocks are strangely torn,
Little shows great holes reveal,
Little hose, but one day worn,
Rudely yawn at toe and heel!
Who but you could work such woe,
Pittypat and Tippytoe!
On the floor and down the hall,
Rudely smutched upon the wall,
There are proofs in every kind
Of the havoc they have wrought,
And upon my heart you'd find
Just such trade-marks, if you sought;
Oh, how glad I am 'tis so,
Pittypat and Tippytoe!
poem by Eugene Field
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Hope
Hope Was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nature's blessings Spring
Nature's blessings called Spring
Nature's blessings
Cherry trees in bloom
Cascades of colours
Floating into my room
Nature's blessings
Eruption of new life
Everywhere around
It's the eternal bound
Nature's blessings
Spring's awakening
Fills one with new hopes
Melting away sorrow slopes
Nature's blessings
Shy scarce sunbeams
Sense of survival
Swallow's arrival
Nature's blessings
Flowers popping up
It's time to hold on
For young and old
Nature's blessings
Cycle of every year
Winter months we bear
Now earthly warming
Nature's blessings
Worth all the gold
Nature's natural gift
To life we all hold
Nature's blessings called Spring
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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A Song of the Lost Generations
A swarm of the birds came down,
Passed by caressing water.
O age!
O age of the caravans!
In search of what you passed over
The waters of centuries,
The arriving and departing springs
Came and went off what for,
And what for the evening
Through spaces passed away
Sinking in blood; and we passed away
From our lives what for.
In persuasion of what the dew drops,
Settled on the trees,
After the leaves had fallen apart.
The dew fell upon the desert,
By and by but dissipated in an instant.
The life of stars,
The whole life of all objects,
Sank down into the tears.
A gust of breeze passed away,
But grappling,
Who knows where has gone the wind.
The volley of arrows,
Went through swishing, quivering,
From the bow, who knows whom for.
Which were the desires that broke us into pieces,
And who should tell whom,
Now who rests where.
O falling shower, Soaring birds!
O breaking stars!
O my search exhausted friends!
Where do you dwell call us aloud?
We are nameless astray boats,
In the bankless blue ocean.
O! The wind of shores take us along,
We are the diminishing marks
Of curiosity from the snow clad valleys.
O! Life take us along,
In the darkness of forests,
We are rustling sounds of the steps
Halting on the dried leaves.
O! Guiding light take us along,
We are hotness of the journey,
We are dust of the route,
We are the age but too precise,
We are alive for an instant…
O! Wind take us along.
Where have gone You God?
Take us along! Take us along!
Written by:
Dr. Swarwar Kamran
Translated by:
Muhammad Shaanzar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Speck of Dust
Hopes for today and plans for tomorrow
Lofty ideals and noble dreams
In an instant can turn into a day of sorrow
For Life is short and so fleeting it seems.
Time and Goals need to be early married
And the young need to focus mind and heart
Opportunity never for once tarried.
And Success can always quickly depart.
In a second, all can be out of sight
All men destined to be carcass
Like a breath, a flickering candle light
We are specks of dust, mere leaves of grass.
----
'Teach us to number our days aright
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.'
PSALM 90: 12
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Februrary 12,2010
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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